


Of All the Things I've Lost

by wordslinger



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Abandon all hope ye who enter here, Angst, F/M, Gen, Loss, Multi, Other, Sadness, seriously this isn't fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 14:19:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14403924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslinger/pseuds/wordslinger
Summary: "A thousand times we die in one life. We crumble, break, and tear apart."A collection of unconnected prompts found on tumblr. Heed the tags.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The summary quote is not an endorsement of Teal Swan. I am completely unfamiliar with her work and because of the nature of it I feel like I just need to say I only liked the quote.
> 
> These pieces are not connected but they all share similar themes of lost things. The list can be found [here](http://erzadragonborn.tumblr.com/post/161531122954/ghostling-four-word-prompts-please-come).
> 
> I know I've got a bunch of WIP's right now and I'm kind of all over the place but I've done lists before and I like 'em. So here we are again.

_"Please, come with me"_

* * *

 

            The bandaid on his wrist was new but the ones on his knees weren’t. His cheek was red and his knuckles ragged. There was a cut on his lip so fresh she thought she could still see the blood glistening between the torn edges of skin. He smiled. Jellal was always smiling even when he was broken.

            “Where are you going?” she whispered, taking his hand in hers and pulling him away from the window ledge where he crouched. The early spring chill cut right through her nightgown.

            “I don’t know yet. Somewhere that’s not here.”

            “Was your dad drinking again? Jellal, you have to call the police. This can’t go on!”

            “So they can drag over a bunch of social workers and make things harder than they have to be?” The tips of his fingers were cool on the apples of her warm cheeks.

            “Jellal –”

            “They’re already harder than they have to be, I know.”

            “Are you really leaving?” Erza’s throat felt tight and her eyes stung. A life without Jellal felt… _impossible._

            “I can’t stay there,” he whispered.

            “Then you can stay _here!”_ Erza tried to swallow her tears and sound firm. _Confident._ Jellal’s laugh was soft and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

            “You know that wouldn’t work. Your mom would sniff me out within minutes and I’d be done.”

            “She – she wouldn’t do that! Not once I tell her that he hits you.”

            “Erza.” His voice was feather soft. “Don’t do that.”

            “Everybody already knows, Jellal,” she insisted. “You could…” Erza bit her lip and tugged on the hem of his t-shirt anxiously. “You could go and live with Lucy?”

            He laughed and it was a sad, ruined thing. “That wouldn’t work either. Her dad would rather move his entire family out of town than acknowledge my existence.”

            “But –”

            “I’ve accepted it, Erza. The minute my mom died, I lost that part of my family. It’s okay.”

            “It’s _not_ okay,” she huffed, feeling the tears finally fall. “It’s _not_ okay! They can’t treat you like that!”

            “They already do. I have to get out of here.”

            “But –” Erza gave into her tears and pulled him tightly against her. “You can’t go,” she sobbed. “I’ll miss you too much and I _need_ you.”

            “Erza, you’re the most capable person I know. And this isn’t goodbye forever.”

            “Then why’s it feel like that?” She tightened her arms around his middle. “Why does this feel like goodbye?”

            Jellal sighed and Erza felt his fingers sliding through her hair. Such a silly thing. Now she was afraid she’d never feel it again. A simple act of love taken for granted.

            “Come with me,” he breathed.

            “What?”

            “Come with me. Please?”

            “I –”

            “You’ve technically graduated already anyway and you’ll be eighteen before August. You can still go to college like you wanted.”

            “Jellal,” she sighed.

            “You’re right.” His hands landed on her shoulders and Erza panicked. He really _was_ going to leave. “Erza, I swear I’ll come for you. Just let me figure things out.”

            In the distance, beyond her open bedroom window Erza heard the faint swell of police sirens.

            “I have to go.” Jellal’s palms pressed into the curves of her shoulders and he squeezed. When she pulled back he smiled but the agonizing urgency couldn’t be missed. The sirens drew closer peal by peal.

            “Jellal,” Erza whispered. “Please tell me those sirens aren’t for you.”

            His smile widened. “You always knew me too well, Erza.”

            “What happened?” she asked, a frantic panic building in her chest. “Jellal, what did you do?”

            “My dad isn’t going to hurt anyone ever again.”

            “Jellal, _please.”_

            “Erza, I gotta go.”

            “Jellal!” Erza’s hands closed around wads of his t-shirt. “You – did you –”

            “Don’t ever forget that I _love_ you, okay? I’ve never loved _anyone_ else.” Despite the red and blue lights flickering through the trees he still smiled. When he kissed her it was swift and fierce. Erza’s hands raced up the planes of his chest and she did her best to lock him against her but Jellal was strong. “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

            “I don’t care!” she said too loudly. The sirens weren’t getting louder anymore but it was only a matter of time before someone made the obvious guess as to where he’d gone. _“Please,_ Jellal! Tell me what’s going on!”

            “Its better that you don’t know, okay?” He pried her hands from his shirt and left a final kiss on her lips before he ducked back out of her window.

            _“Please_ don’t _do_ this,” Erza begged.

            “It’s already done.”

            Jellal made it to the edge of the roof before the police lights streaked down the street and came to a head in Erza’s driveway. The pearlescent white paint of her mother’s Mercedes glowed under the flashing lights. Jellal crouched on the edge of the roof and held his hands up in surrender when the white searchlights found him.


	2. Chapter 2

_"You're always number one"_

* * *

 

            Erza flopped backward onto her bed and stretched out. The warm air made her toes feel less like prunes – she should’ve listened to her mother and worn the rain boots. She set her phone on the pillow beside her head and waited for her mother to answer.

            “How was your day love?” Eileen said without the typical _Hello?_

            “Pretty good. You were right about the rain.” Erza wiggled her toes and nudged her feet under the folded fleece blanket. “I’m soaked.”

            “Could you say that again? I just want to have a record of you saying I’m right.”

            “Mom,” Erza said with a laugh. “I say you’re right all the time!”

            “Do you? Huh. I must need to have my hearing checked.” Erza could hear Eileen’s fingernails clicking on keyboard keys and the shuffling of papers and the hushed voice of her mother’s assistant in the background. “Isn’t Jellal coming in tonight and staying through the weekend?”

            “Yeah,” Erza murmured, trying to downplay her excitement. She missed him. “He’s driving here first and then he’ll go home.”

            “It’s his mother’s birthday on Sunday. You two must have important business if he’s seeing you first.”

            “I’m being selfish, mom,” she whispered. “I wanted him to come.”

            “I wasn’t chastising you, love. I know this isn’t how you wanted it to be.”

            “This is better for him.” Erza picked at the hem of her uniform skirt. “He worked hard for that scholarship and he deserves to enjoy it without any whining from me. I just… I want to be selfish just this one time.”

            “It’s hard to be separated from someone you love.”

            “When are _you_ coming home, by the way?” Erza swung the conversation back the other way.

            “Soon. This trip has been exhausting. I’ll be back in time for the party on Sunday.”

            “Good. I miss you, mom.”

            “I miss you too, sweet. I’ll talk to you before bed?”

            “Yep.”

            Eileen ended the call and Erza’s thumb hovered over her favorites list. Jellal’s name was just below her mother’s. She knew he’d still be on the road but wanted to hear his voice anyway.

            “Yukino?” Jellal asked when he answered the call.

            “Ooh, did I just figure out who your secret girlfriend is?” Erza said, with false intrigue. “Interesting.”

            Jellal laughed. “Ah, whoops! I can hardly keep you all straight!”

            “You’re such a ladies man, Jellal.”

            “You’re always my number one, Erza. Don’t forget. You’re my _favorite_ girlfriend.”

            Erza never failed to flush at the word _girlfriend_ even though he’d been calling her that for a very long time.

            “How’s the road treating you?” she asked, curling a strand of hair around one finger.

            “Eh, it’s been raining.”

            “Yeah, I forgot my rain boots today and got drenched.”

            “Gotta be smarter, Erza. I don’t want to waste the weekend spoon feeding you chicken soup and picking up your tissues.”

            “Oh, please, I’d let you wash my hair and you’d love it.”

            “Don’t kink shame me, Erza.”

            Erza grinned and tried to force the loneliness out of her heart. It wouldn’t leave, though, not until he was in arm’s reach.

            “I would never.” She bit her lip. “I miss you.”

            “I miss you all the time. Sometimes I wonder if it really would’ve been so bad to just graduate with you and then go to university together.”

            “You did what was best for you, Jellal. You were bored out of your mind here. I would never consider holding you back just so I could get some dick whenever I wanted it.”

            Jellal’s laugh was bright. “So that’s what I’ve been reduced to? Your personal dick? Nice. Consider my ego nice and stroked.”

            “You’re welcome. Now hurry up and get here.”

            “I’m about to be in the Pearl Street Tunnel. You’ll have to be patient for another twenty minutes.”

            “I think I can do that.”

            “I’m gonna lose you in a sec but I –” The call was dropped and Erza smiled. She clicked off her phone and went to brush her teeth. Jellal shouldn’t be able to tell she had onion rings for lunch. She wound up brushing her hair into a high gloss, too. As a _bribe_.

            Rain pelted the windows and Erza headed down to the kitchen to set the kettle on a burner. Jellal had always been a fan of jasmine tea. Maybe he’d be convinced to stay just a little longer if she had something he liked on hand – besides her hair. The kitchen was quiet but for the rain until Erza switched on the television. A reporter was going on about something but her attention wasn’t hooked until she heard him say _‘The Pearl Street tunnel.”_

            Erza spun around with the kettle still in her hand. The camera angle was bad but she could see the congestion of cars on the northbound side of the highway.

            _“… A collision inside the tunnel due to a hydroplaning accident is the best guess at this point. First responders are still trying to pick through the wreckage.”_

_“Do you know if there have been fatalities?”_

_“Well, honestly, Sharon, I can’t imagine there aren’t. According to the sensors there were over seventy cars in the tunnel at the time of the initial collision.”_ He gestured behind him at the blocked tunnel. _“And as you can see the pileup is extensive.”_

            “No,” Erza whispered. “No… this – this can’t be right.” She set aside the kettle and reached for her phone. Her hands shook so terribly she could barely get her password in to redial Jellal. His number went straight to voicemail. Erza’s face was wet with tears and she had trouble catching her breaths. She dialed him seven more times before screaming in a rage. _“No!”_

            The voices from the television mingled together and she couldn’t make any of them out. Ambulances and fire trucks had swarmed the scene. Police were attempting to redirect traffic off the highway and onto the service roads.

            _“Police have confirmed there are fatalities and we will keep you updated.”_

_“Thanks, Brent.”_

            The woman on the screen started talking about some other nonsense but Erza couldn’t focus. She could do nothing but dial Jellal over and over.

            _“Hey, it’s Jellal. Just text me!”_ his voice said over the speaker. Erza dropped to the floor. The scream of her knees meant nothing. She didn’t know what she should do. Everything seemed fake and plastic and _nightmarish._

            Her phone rang shrilly and she nearly dropped it.

            “Hello?” she demanded.

            “Erza, it’s me.” The voice of Jellal’s father boomed from her phone. “Have you seen the news? Erza?”

            “Uh, yeah, Mister Fernandes, I have,” she whispered. “Is he… is…”

            “I don’t know. I’ve got my lights on and I’m headed to the scene, okay? If you want to go to the house and sit with Anna, you can. I know your mom’s still out of town.”

            “Will they let you through?” Erza breathed, trying to steady her voice. “The place is –”

            “I’ll outrank everyone there right now. They _will_ let me through.” She recognized the ferocity in Acnologia’s voice and tried to take comfort in it.

            “Please let me know,” she whispered. _“Please._ We were just talking and the tunnel cut him off and then –”

            “I’ll keep you informed,” he interrupted gruffly. “I gotta go.” The sounds of his cruiser sirens ricocheted in her ears.

            Erza couldn’t bring herself to dress and go sit with Anna. She placed her phone on the tile floor in front of her and waited.

            _And waited._

            When Acnologia called again he rattled off something about towing cars out of the tunnel and fires. She could hear the despair in his voice. The call was less than three minutes and the silence afterward was deafening.

* * *

 

            The sun had long set and the kitchen stood dark. Erza wondered if she’d just stop breathing. Is that how a person died of heartbreak? She kept seeing the clog of cars outside the tunnel and the black smoke pouring out the other end. The television still danced but she’d long since muted it.

            She thought maybe his father had been _wrong._ Maybe they misidentified his car. Maybe he was still trapped. Maybe they were just all fucking _wrong._ Images of wreckers dragging mangled cars from inside the tunnel was all she could focus on. Jellal’s last words echoed in her ears.

            _“I’m gonna lose you in a sec…”_

            Erza tried to blink the tears from her eyes to focus on the familiar black Volvo twisted beyond belief. The news feed was just a live camera now.

            Her text chime startled her and her heart nearly leapt out of her body.

            _‘You’re always my number one.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this isn't "Ten Million Ways Candace Fucks With Jellal"
> 
> Don't text and drive, kids. Stick with me?


	3. Chapter 3

_"I can't do this"_

* * *

 

            His short fingernails scraped against the inner seams of his pockets again. He knew any lint was long gone but lately it seemed all he was capable of.

            “Jellal?” his mother’s voice on the other end of the call sounded like nothing more than a far away echo. His ears rang. “Jellal, honey, you can’t _not_ go.”

            “I can’t do this,” he whispered, and reached over absently to tap the red dot.

            _I can’t do this…_

            Jellal closed his eyes and returned to _that_ moment. _That_ day. The one he would never forget but wished to god he _could._ Everything was etched into his memory with flawless precision.

            He could recall the exact sound of her voice when she told him she felt sick. He remembered every street sign printed in a language he didn’t speak between their hotel and the clinic. Even the voices of the arguing medics and helicopter operators were perfectly preserved. Jellal remembered everything.

            Erza spoke Thai and Mandarin Chinese fluently. He thought that would be enough for a two-week trip. It wasn’t. When she’d fallen ill and could hardly gasp for breath, much less speak his broken words weren’t enough. Jellal’s eyes slid closed and he watched it happen again.

            _Her skin was pale and coated with a sheen of sweat. Her grip on his hand, weak._

_“Jellal.” Erza’s voice could barely be heard over the din of the clinic still scrambling to evacuate her to the mainland hospital. “You have to go,” she whispered._

_“No,” he said firmly, clutching her hand against his chest. “I will absolutely not leave you.”_

_“You can’t be sick, too.” Her words were punctuated with short gasping breaths. “Rose needs you.”_

_“Shut up, Erza,” he begged. “Just shut up, okay? She needs you, too. Don’t say this stuff.”_

_“Please.” Her eyelids drooped and her body shook with chills. The machine beside her beeped frantically._

_“I can’t do this,” Jellal blurted desperately, his tears salty on his tongue. “Erza, please!”_

_She was gone before the evacuation could even be sorted. Words Jellal didn’t understand were still bouncing off the walls of the clinic. Erza’s hand was cold and limp in his._

            His phone was vibrating again and his mother’s name flashed on the screen. Jellal tossed it behind him on the bed where it bounced into the pillows. He couldn’t take her begging and reasoning.

            “Daddy?” a small voice from the doorway dug its claws into his heart. The little girl was an absolute clone of Erza. She watched him with a wariness he hated.

            “What is it, Rose? Are you dressed?”

            “Yeah,” she said haltingly. “I can’t get the buttons, though.”

            “Come here.” Jellal took a seat on the edge of the bed. The one he hadn’t slept in since before… _before._ Rose pulled her scarlet hair over her shoulder and Jellal slid each button through the loops as if he hadn’t just told his mother he wouldn’t be attending the funeral. “Alright,” he whispered.

            Rose turned around and gazed up at him. Jellal touched the fringe of hair in her eye before brushing it behind her ear.

            “You need a haircut, shortcake.”

            She bit her lip before meeting his eyes squarely. “I want to have long hair like mommy did.”

            “If that’s what you want.”

            “What do _you_ want, daddy? You’re so sad.”

            Jellal stared down at his hands, unable to meet his daughter’s eyes. When she took his much larger hands in hers, he tried to swallow his tears.

            “I’m sorry, shortcake. I’m trying not to be. I think you should have long hair if that’s what you want.”

            “I heard you tell Gran we weren’t going today.” Jellal glanced up and found his daughter’s eyes wide and earnest. “I’ll stay here with you. Mommy wouldn’t mind.”

            “I think…” Jellal trailed off and thought of Erza again. “I think she wouldn’t care about a funeral but I think she’d care that I let you be the adult, Rose.” His voice was a whisper.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean, we’re going.” He reached behind himself for the discarded phone. “I think this is how people say goodbye and we should be there.”

* * *

 

            Rose clung to his hand all afternoon and when she sniffled in the middle of the service, he lifted her to his hip and tucked the tulle of her dress into the crook of his arm. She was a small child for her age but Erza hadn’t been much bigger if memory served.

            And Jellal’s memory served _perfectly._

            He’d known her for Twenty-eight years, two months, and three days exactly when she left him behind in that clinic. They’d only been married for a week. Rose had been an unplanned surprise five years before but he’d come to think of their daughter as the best part of them both.

            His only regret was the honeymoon. They should’ve stayed home.


	4. Chapter 4

_"I won't let you"_

* * *

 

            The first time Erza realized Jellal was different was at a soccer game. He collapsed on the field and clutched at his chest while struggling to breathe. His mother sobbed but his father was completely calm – even though his hands shook as he scooped Jellal from the grass and tore across the field toward the ambulance.

            He didn’t come back to school for a week.

* * *

 

            The first time he had a surgery that kept him out of school for weeks, Erza visited him every day. She brought him books and movies and homework.

            He joked that she brought him too much homework and Erza offered to bring more fun things instead. She blushed when Jellal said he’d rather she just bring herself.

* * *

 

            The first time Erza said the word _cardiomyopathy_ she stumbled over it. He laughed and kissed her cheek.

            His diet was restricted but when he visited her house he’d always sneak cookies. For his fifteenth birthday she made him a perfectly healthy cake with no butter and minimal sugar. It was an afternoon worth of effort but she thought he liked the taste of it from her lips instead of the fork.

* * *

 

            The first time Erza saw the many requirements for a heart transplant she swallowed hard. She understood his condition and his already restricted lifestyle but to have everything in front of her in cold hard print was a punch in the gut.

            “Is this dangerous?” she asked in a whisper, unable to stave off her tears.

            “Everything is dangerous,” he said, prying the pamphlets from her hands. “I could get struck by lightening walking you home tonight and die on the spot.”

            “Don’t say that!” Erza gasped, eyes wide.

            “My point is, _yes_ transplants are dangerous but not as dangerous as trying to live with a bad heart. I won’t die.”

            Erza flattened her hand over his chest and felt the steady beating of a heart she couldn’t see and didn’t trust.

            “I won’t let you.”

            He smiled but she took no solace in it until his kisses distracted her.

* * *

 

            The first time Jellal took his driving test, he passed. Erza needed three attempts before she was issued a license.

            Jellal wasn’t allowed to participate in athletics but he showed up for every one of Erza’s volleyball games. Even the away games and he drove hours the one time her school team competed in a national competition.

* * *

 

            The first time he was in her bed she asked him if he was _sure_ it was safe for him. Jellal laughed and took her breath away.

* * *

 

            The first time Erza drove at night was to a small comic book store across town.

            “It’s pretty rough out there,” the sales clerk said, glancing at the storm beyond the window glass of his shop.

            “Yeah, but I think it’s worth it.” Erza slid her purchase into her backpack and zipped it closed. “He’s been trying to get his hands on this volume for ages. I figure it’ll make me the best girlfriend ever.”

            “Drive safe!” he called after her.

            Erza only glanced away from the road for a moment to adjust her heating vents. The other set of headlights surprised her and all she could do was stare in shock.

            The sirens were loud and the flashing lights bright – the florescent lights of the emergency room were even brighter.

            Jellal clutched her hand. Erza felt tired and thin. Everything swam but his face. The room was frigid no matter how many warm blankets they tucked around her.

            “I got you that book you wanted,” she said, teeth chattering.

            “Erza don’t talk. You’ve lost too much blood. Just hold on, okay?”

            Her laugh was a raspy thing. “It’s in my backpack.”

            _“Stop,”_ he begged.

            “If I die, I want you to have my heart.” The words fell from her lips on a whim but she meant them. “I checked the donor box for you.”

            “Erza, _please._ You won’t die! _I won’t let you!”_

            Her blankets were wet and she closed her eyes.

* * *

 

            The first time he completed a mile run around the track, Jellal felt both triumph and crushing sadness. Erza’s heart beat flawlessly in his chest. A life for a life.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_"Maybe I'm just crazy"_

* * *

 

            “When’s the big day?” he asked, grinning at her.

            “Tomorrow.”

            “You’re going to look amazing in that gown. I hear graduation caps are extremely fashionable.”

            “Shut up,” Erza wailed, hiding her face in her pillow. “The gown is so ugly and I hate it.”

            “You only have to wear it once.”

            “You said that in high school.” She rolled to her side and watched him closely memorizing every freckle of his nose. He hadn’t changed a bit. “And yet here we are with another cap and gown. I think you’re just a liar.”

            “Are you nervous?”

            “No. I’m not wearing heels this time.”

            “I think that’s for the best, Erza. I won’t be there to catch you this time.” He’d meant it as a joke but his smile wavered painfully. Erza tried to swallow around the lump in her throat. “Erza –”

            “Don’t apologize,” she said, trying to usher the moment away quickly. “This is how things are now.” How they _have been._ “I’m…” Erza sucked in an unsteady breath. “I’m fine, Jellal.”

            “Your hair is longer.” His fingers touch the ends of scarlet that fanned over her pillow.

            So many words choked her. She’d changed. He hadn’t. He never would.

            “My mom says I should cut it.”

            “Do you want to cut it?”

            “No,” she whispered.

            “Why?”

            “You know why.”

            “Erza, I can’t keep this up.”

            Her tears soaked the pillow pressed against her cheek. She wanted to tell him to stop speaking but he was right. He was _always_ right.

            “Please,” she said with a sob. “I’m not ready.”

            “You _are.”_ His smile was radiant but his eyes were sad. “Erza, you’re ready. I _want_ you to cut your hair and move out of your mom’s house and get a job and be happy.”

            “I’m happy _now!”_ Erza licked her lips and tasted nothing but salt.

            “When did we start lying to each other?” he pressed softly.

            Erza’s mouth formed the shape of his name but she couldn’t make a sound. His lips were cold and feather soft against her forehead.

            “I love you,” she whispered. “Will you stay until I’m asleep? Just this one last time?”

            “I will.”

* * *

 

            When the sunlight peeked through her curtains Erza blinked away more tears. The opposite side of her bed was undisturbed. A knock at her door startled her and she sat up quickly. She wiped her face clean with a tissue and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

            “What is it?”

            Eileen pushed the door open and eyed her carefully. She crossed the room and brushed Erza’s hair off her face.

            “Are you ready for today?” she asked softly.

            “Yeah, I guess.”

            “I heard you talking in here last night.” Eileen sighed. “Erza –”

            “Maybe I’m just crazy, mom.”

            “You’re _not.”_ She took a step back and her expression turned bright. “Get dressed and we’ll go out for breakfast before the ceremony.”

            “Okay.”

            “You’ll do fine.” Eileen whirled around and shut the door quietly behind her.

            Erza glanced back over her shoulder to the empty bed. Jellal had been gone for years and she’d only just gotten around to saying goodbye.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sings softly* one of these things is not like the others...

_"I'm not even sorry"_

* * *

 

            When they were twelve he showed up at the door with a single bag, covered in bruises, and half hidden behind a social worker. Erza wasn’t much for prying. She understood what it was like to have _no one._

            The room that was now his had nothing on the walls and nothing in the desk drawers. His lamp was out by eight o’clock but she brought him a slice of dessert cake anyway.

            “Thanks,” Jellal said softly into the darkness. He faced the wall and Erza didn’t hear the bedsprings squeak until she was on the other side of his door.

* * *

 

            At sixteen, Laxus was two years older than her and always knew what was going on with the adults – and there was _always_ something going on with the adults. Erza found him near the out building poking around on the lawn mower. His fingers were dirty with oil and his eyebrows were drawn together tightly.

            “They’re yelling now,” she whispered from her favorite spot beneath the shade tree.

            “They’re always yelling,” Laxus muttered.

            “Your grandpa won’t let that man inside. The one with the marks on his face like Jellal. He was here last Christmas, too. He showed up in the middle of the night. I remember it.”

            “You shouldn’t worry about it, Erza,” Laxus said, wiping his hands on his already dirty jeans. “Gramps won’t let anything happen.”

            “Jellal won’t come out of his room.” Erza bit her lip and glanced up at the row of windows that overlooked the backyard. “I think –”

            “You think that’s his old man out front? The one who put all those bruises on him before he came here?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Well there’s your answer.” Laxus tossed aside the oily bandana and yanked hard on the mower’s crank. The sound of the motor roaring to life ended the conversation.

* * *

 

            Kissing Jellal felt dangerous. Technically she shouldn’t be in his room. _Technically_ none of this should be happening and if anyone found out, they’d be separated. Jellal would probably be the one to go. He was considered ‘high risk’ not just because of his violent father but because he couldn’t seem to help getting into fights in school.

            Erza was a model student. Her grades were above reproach and she would have her pick of scholarships to just about any university in their region after graduating. Makarov proudly framed every certificate of achievement she brought home and displayed them in the sitting room. Laxus rolled his eyes but he was a tough crowd anyway. Erza knew he loved her as any brother might.

            Every other week Jellal had a split lip or bruised jaw. Erza did nothing but purse her lips in disapproval and clean him up. Makarov never said a word about the nights she spent in his room or the way he sometimes kissed her in the backyard under the shade tree she still loved. He only ever opened his mouth on the subject once.

            “I’m not saying you _can’t,”_ he’d said one night at dinner when Laxus was working late. “But I’d hate to lose one of you because someone saw.”

* * *

 

            On Erza’s seventeenth birthday Jellal surprised her with something so thoughtful it brought her to tears. The medal dangled from a fine chain and Erza brushed her fingers over the face of it.

            “Jellal,” she breathed. “This must’ve cost a fortune!”

            He shrugged and took the necklace from her. His fingers brushed over the curves of her neck as he clasped the chain closed.

            “White gold suits you,” he murmured. “I wanted you to have it.”

            “How did you know?”

            “Erza, you’ve been going to mass for as long as I’ve known you.”

            “How did you know which one –”

            He laughed softly and kissed the side of her neck. His lips warmed the chain where they pressed against her skin.

            “You’ve been going on about nursing school for months. I took a wild guess.” Jellal smiled and took her hand. “You like it, right?”

            “I _love_ it.” She kissed him until the moonlight bathed the park in silver.

            Half a block away from their home a red Buick idled on the curb. Jellal stiffened and squeezed Erza’s hand. As they passed a sharp pair of green eyes identical to Jellal’s smiled at them.

            “Old man Dreyar lets you keep it in the family?” the man in the car drawled. Jellal released her hand and glared into the shadows of the Buick.

            “Fuck you,” Jellal said in his most quiet, most _dangerous_ tone.

            “Looks like that’s your sister’s job.” The Buick’s brake lights lit up and the car pulled slowly away from the curb.

* * *

 

            “Surely something can be done?” Makarov’s voice was as close to desperate as Erza had ever heard it. She couldn’t quite catch the words of the social worker but the way Jellal stuffed his belongings into his bag told her enough.

            Erza left the hallway behind and closed Jellal’s door behind her.

            “Jellal,” she said in a frantic, hushed voice. “You can’t –”

            “It’ll be alright, Erza.” His mouth smiled but his eyes didn’t. “I turn eighteen in six months. It’s no big thing.”

            “He’s going to hurt you again.”

            “He _can’t,”_ Jellal insisted. “I’m not a scrawny kid anymore. If he hits me, I’ll fucking hit back.”

            Erza worried her lip until Jellal’s thumb brushed over her jaw and pulled it from between her teeth.

            “Don’t do that,” he whispered. “I’d be real sad if you chewed your lips off.”

            “I’m so worried. I know they said he’s clean now and it’s safe but I wish –”

            “You wish _what,_ Erza?” His voice was a whisper but the question pressing.

            “I wish we’d waited.”

            “I don’t. Yeah, this sucks but I’m not even sorry. You’ve been the very best part of my life so far, Erza. I have no regrets.”

            Erza couldn’t fight off her tears any longer and wrapped her arms around him tightly. He kissed her hair, her neck, and finally angled her face toward him and kissed her lips.

            “It’s only six months.”

* * *

 

            Jellal dropped out of school before she could even ask him how things were going with his dad.

* * *

 

            The summer before she started her degree program Erza volunteered in the children’s wing of the hospital. She spent a lot of time changing bed sheets and playing Go Fish with kids who might not live long enough to grow out of the game.

            One evening in late August, she took a detour through the emergency room and was nearly bowled over by a team of paramedics and police officers. Their shouts were a cacophony of things but Erza couldn’t untangle any of it. She was too busy fixating on the young man handcuffed to the gurney.

            His room had a guard stationed in front of it but Erza had a lot of practice with grouchy men. She let him search her bag and pockets in exchange for access.

            Jellal’s smile was lopsided but it was still the _best_ thing she’d seen in months.

            “What happened?” she whispered, fingering the cold metal of the handcuffs.

            “Stole a car and wrecked it.”

            “Oh, Jellal.” With his free hand he reached up to touch the Saint Agatha medal. Erza took his hand in hers and slid her fingers between his. “I wish –”

            “Don’t,” he said with the grin she loved. “I found you again and I’m not even sorry.”

            “There’s a police officer outside your room, Jellal,” she scolded him softly.

            “I don’t care.”

            “You’ll go to jail.” Erza tried to hold onto her frustration but found she couldn’t. “You’re eighteen now. It’s not just a slap on the wrist and a new foster home anymore.”

            “Three years, I think.” He still hadn’t stopped grinning. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll find you when I get out if you want.”

            “Like you found me just now?” Tears slid down her cheeks.

            “I’ll do better next time. I promise.”

* * *

 

            Erza never took off her Saint Agatha medal. In her first year of university she nearly lost it and had to replace the chain. The relief of finding it tangled in her sheets brought frustrated tears to her eyes.

* * *

 

            In the last year she’d spend as a student Laxus asked her what she wanted as a graduation gift. The words were barely audible over the sound of his socket wrench and the air compressor.

            “Don’t get me anything, Laxus,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll be happy if you can just fix this car for me.”

            “You should trash this junker,” he muttered. “I’ve got two on my back lot that wouldn’t crap out on you every other month.”

            “I like this one.” Erza’s eyes drifted from Laxus’s dirty hands to the tall pines that lined the edge of his property. The garage supported both him and Makarov and, even though she’d protested, the student loans she’d taken out to cover the last half of her degree.

            “You’re gonna snap that chain if you keep yanking on it.” His voice cut into her thoughts. Erza detangled the silver chain from her fingers and her thumb, as always, pressed against the smooth side of the medal.

            “Yeah,” she breathed.

* * *

 

            “Okay but where did you park it?” Erza asked patiently as she slid her arms through the sleeves of her jacket.

            “Outside the ER,” Laxus muttered. “Erza, _please,_ let me replace your car. It’s a shitpile.”

            “Well, it’s _my_ shitpile and I like it.” She zipped her jacket closed and grabbed her bag. “Thanks for bringing it.”

            “Yeah, well, when it breaks down on you next week, I’m just going to bring you another one and I won’t say what I did with the shitpile.”

            “Whatever.” Erza heard his radio in the background.

            “You comin’ for dinner on Sunday or do you work?”

            “I’ll be there.”

            Laxus ended the call just as abruptly as she expected. The emergency room was on the other side of the hospital. By the time Erza made it out to the parking lot, the moon had risen and the air was crisp. An ambulance was parked in the circle driveway and when Erza cleared it she spotted someone leaning against the side of her car. His hands were hidden in his pockets and his back was to her but Erza’s heart flipped over.

            He wore a Magnolia Fire Department t-shirt with no jacket even in the chilled night air. His grin was the same lopsided thing she remembered.

            “You’re about two years late, Jellal,” Erza said, unlocking her car and leaving her bag in the passenger seat. He didn’t push off the side of the car until she joined him on the driver’s side.

            “Well,” he said, with a low laugh. “I had some things to take care of.”

            “I can see that.” Erza reached out and brushed her fingers over the fire department’s logo. “You’ve been busy.”

            “I lucked out with a good attorney. She got me out early and my records were sealed. In two more years I’ll be a paramedic and not just an EMT.”

            “There’s nothing wrong with being an EMT,” Erza whispered.

            “No, but I’m trying to aim higher so I can impress this girl.” She felt her cheeks warm and his grin slid into a smirk. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen her and I don’t want to be the same old fixer upper I’ve always been. I think maybe she’s got enough on her hands with this old shitpile of a car.”

            Erza blushed furiously. _Laxus._

            “Don’t be mad at him, Erza. We ran into each other when he dropped off the car.”

            “He talks too much.”

            Jellal stepped into her personal space and ran his finger along the chain she still wore around her neck. He pulled the medal free of her collar and pressed it between his fingers.

            “You kept it.”

            “I did.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been watching American Gods.

_"Honestly, just stop it"_

* * *

 

            “I love you.” It was always the first thing he said when she answered the phone.

            “I love you too.” There was a flirtatious smile in her voice. “So five more days?”

            “Five more days.” Jellal sighed and closed his eyes. He tried to imagine their house as he remembered it. “I miss you.”

            “I _always_ miss you.” The sounds of running water and the clink of dishes took him _almost_ all the way home. “Your mom brought over a big ass bag of corn flour today. I’m picking up the beef on Thursday.”

            His stomach rumbled even though all he could smell was _prison._ “Are you making tamales?”

            “They’re for the surprise party your mom is throwing and _you_ don’t know _anything_ about it.”

            “You don’t have to, Erza, really. I’d be happy with anything that’s not on a metal tray.”

            “I’ll make them for my boyfriend, then. How’s that?”

            “Is he a felon, too? Do you have a type?”

            “I _do_ have a type.” He listened to her slid the lock on the dishwasher closed and twist the dial. Each click echoed in his ear. “It’s _you. You’re_ my type.”

            “Erza –”

            “Honestly, just stop it, Jellal. I’ve been waiting for two years, and three hundred sixty days. I’m not about to bail now.”

            “I just…” He trailed off and opened his eyes. The cinderblock walls were still just as bleak as they had been when he’d closed them. “It’s a small town. People talk, you know?”

            “Fuck those assholes.”

            “Right,” he whispered.

            “I mean it, Jellal. Fuck them. Who cares? We’re married. We’re a _team.”_ She paused and he listened for every breath. “Just come home, okay? Come back to me.”

            “I love you,” he repeated. It was his hello and his goodbye and everything in between.

            “I love you, too,” she whispered.

* * *

 

            Every hallway looked the same – except for this one. It was lined with offices and framed photos. There were potted plants and even a few windows. All things prisoners were denied. The warden’s office had the kind of dated wood paneling that made a room seem three times smaller than it really was. He pointed at a chair.

            “Sit.” The warden’s shoulders fell when Jellal didn’t move. “Please. Have a seat, _please.”_ He shuffled through the papers on his desk before glancing up and over his bifocals. “This says you’re in for Grand Theft Auto…” he trailed off and Jellal swallowed a sigh. “Looks like some other smaller stuff, too.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            “Your release is set for four days from now but we’re cutting that down. You’ll be heading out on the evening bus.”

            Jellal blinked in surprise. The warden shuffled his papers some more and blew out an awkward breath.

            “Uh, look, Mister Fernandes, there’s no real easy way to say this but your wife, Erza Fernandes, died in the early hours of this morning.”

            Jellal’s chest stood flat. Empty. The room seemed to collapse around him. Every one of the dark wood panels felt like part of a coffin. All he could hear was a rush of air. It was loud. _Deafening_.

            “What?” he managed to croak out.

            “I’m told it was a car accident.” The warden’s eyes were a watery blue. So clear they were almost without pigment. “I’m sorry.”

            Jellal stood abruptly. He didn’t feel the handcuffs around his wrists or the scratch of his uniform. He didn’t remember washing his face or brushing his teeth. He didn’t say goodbye to anyone. All he could see was _red._

* * *

 

            Their house looked exactly the same. The grass was a startlingly surreal green and the tulips Erza had coaxed from bulbs were a bright blood red. The phone in his pocket vibrated endlessly. He knew if he looked he’d see his mother’s name but he couldn’t look.

            The front walk still had the crack running the length of the third slab of concrete. A tuft of crab grass sprouted from it. He’d shared the house with Erza for two years before his incarceration and in that time the crab grass had been his mortal enemy. Now it seemed almost mournful.

            As always, there was a key under the blue flowerpot with the yellow polka dots. Jellal let the door swing open. The knob hit the wall and he stared down at the two day old pile of mail. A bag of balloons sat open on the table. Erza had inflated some of them and they floated listlessly throughout the room dragging half curled trains of ribbon with them. A list of food, drinks, and party items caught his eye. Erza’s handwriting had always been damn near illegible.

            Jellal’s throat closed and he crumpled the list and threw it at the wall.

            Their bed was unmade and he fell into it. The pillows and sheets smelled like her shampoo and he finally felt hot tears leak from his eyes.

            _“Fuck, Erza,”_ he whispered into the bedclothes. The words he really wanted to say were sharp on his tongue. They wouldn’t bring her back but he needed to say them. The world felt empty but heavy. His phone wouldn’t stop vibrating.

            “I love you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know lol

_"I believe in you"_

* * *

 

            “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he whispers in her ear.

            “I do,” she insists. Her hand closes around his wrist. He knows the unnatural heat of his bracers is uncomfortable for her but she doesn’t let go. “And I’m not asking.”

            “Is it a wish then?” She opens her mouth but he presses a finger to her lips. “Don’t be hasty, Erza. My contract is quite literal. Whatever you wish for –” He kisses her. Soft but pleading. “You shall have.”

            “Exactly what I wish for?” She repeats.

            “There can be no equivocations.”

            “I will leave no room for interpretation.” Despite her assurances, he is plagued by a whispering doubt. She kisses him this time and pushes the folds of sheets between them away. His skin is always too warm, too giving, too _inviting._ This is part of his bondage.

            Always to please. Always to serve. Always to appeal. Always ready.

            Each of his masters are granted three wishes and for what feels like a millennia he has been a slave to countless desires – some so dark and heinous and unthinkable they are only ever whispered. Jellal hears whispers louder than anything else. He knows before the words can fall from a desperate master’s lips that the wish is flawed. He can feel the magic deceiving the hapless fools who spout their wishes without any thought of how their words might betray them. And he can feel the lashes of so many whips fueled by humiliated rage when a master is displeased.

            Erza is different. She has known what it is to be a slave and she has her own scars. He would smooth them all away if only she’d wish for it. But she won’t. Unlike anyone else who happened to stumble upon his vessel, Erza touches him with something other than base desire and selfishness. She is concerned. She _loves._ Too much, he thinks.

            She refuses his magic. Her wishes she keeps stowed close to her heart and he can feel every beat. For the first time in _thousands of years_ Jellal feels the softness of what it might be like to be free. And loved.

            “Erza –” Sometimes Jellal wonders if she is his master or he is hers. She bends and bows toward him with only a touch or brush of a kiss. There is an addictive power in commanding her sighs. “I don’t know what will happen.”

            “Is there a dogma to your freedom?” she whispers.

            “I… don’t know. My home is long gone. Everyone I knew is dead.” Erza presses the palm of her hand against his chest and brushes the dip of his clavicle with the tips of her fingers. “If I were wished free –”

            “Does the magic that binds you control time, as well? Will you be sent back? Will you brought current only to shrivel and die?”

            “I don’t know.” His fingers tangle in her hair and the crimson wisps brush against the gold of his bracers. “There was an in-between place, I think. Some den of sorcery.”

            “I would come for you.” Her words are still only a whisper but her lips are a hard line. Her eyes, unyielding.

            “I believe in you, Erza, but – pp”

            “I would _find_ you.”

            “Will you not settle for a life with your wishes kept safe against your heart? I would never leave you, Erza. I would stay until –”

            “Until I’m old and grey?” Her eyebrows dent and his heart breaks. “Until I am too old to know you by voice or face?”

            “I would care for you, Erza.”

            “And who would care for _you_ once I’m gone?” Her voice cracks. “What becomes of a genie when his master dies with her wishes still in tact?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Which is the worse unknown, Jellal?”

            “I don’t know that either.”

            “I would never make such a wish without your consent.” The way she gazes up at him both tears him to pieces and makes him feel more whole than he’s ever felt in his long miserable life as a genie.

            “Let me stay with you one more night. Let me have this one –”

            “Wish?”

            He smiles and can feel it all the way down to his toes.

* * *

 

            Genies don’t sleep. He wonders how soon he’ll be able to experience such a simple human thing. Sleeping next to Erza or sharing a meal with her would be second only to feeling her skin against his human palms. She breathes evenly and he watches the sunlight creep across the floor, the blankets, and eventually her shoulder.

            Erza’s eyes open and she smiles. There is something not quite put together about the way she smiles at him in the morning. He loves the mild chaos of it. Jellal rolls to his side and kisses her. Against his lips she whispers her wish and he feels the press of her skin only for a moment before the room and the bed and Erza wink from view.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been watching Into the Badlands.

_"Don't be an ass"_

* * *

 

            The warehouse was mostly dark, which was to be expected given the hour. She needed his full attention and she needed him alone. Erza’s heeled boots made a low echo as she made her way across the main floor to the stairs that would take her up, up, and up to his private office. How many times had she been in that office over the years? Hundreds? Thousands? Erza ran her finger over the cherry paint of one of his cars. A BMW with white racing stripes. She was a little surprised the car wasn’t covered – but Jellal had been surprising her for months now, hadn’t he? He’d gone right over the edge and now hung by a thread.

            Erza wanted to fix all that. She _could._

            A quick glance up to the bird’s nest office loft revealed his shadowed silhouette against the glass. She felt his eyes on her as she neared the staircase. Erza used to like being watched. The feel of his eyes on her as she worked the business end of the kingdom they’d built from scraps used to excite her. His gaze made her feel confident. _Competent._ Erza hadn’t been anything before Jellal. Just a girl with half a name and nothing to it anyway. She’d loved him once – she _still_ loved him. Enough to _stop_ him.

            The door into the loft wasn’t even locked. He should’ve locked it. Erza sighed and shut the door behind her after stepping through it. She added _sloppy_ to the list of his recent shortcomings. Her eyes scrutinized the office harshly. It never used to be so _horribly_ messy. Papers scattered, cigarette butts in styrofoam fast food cups, the light bulb in the desk lamp flickered, and the screen of his laptop screensaver bathed the room in a flickering pink and purple glow. When she finally stood only a few feet away, Erza folded her hands in front of her. He’d showered but not dressed. She pursed her lips at the state of his hipbones but said nothing. He was too _skinny._ Jellal had always been lean but this… it was too much. She couldn’t let it go on.

            “Have you come to read me my rights?” He said easily, poking a cigarette between his lips. She watched him light it and exhale the first toxic cloud of smoke from his lungs.

            “What rights?” She asked with a smirk. “I’m not a cop.”

            “I know that.” He flicked the ash from the tip of his cigarette to no place in particular. The grey clump landed on the windowsill. “But that’s what this has come to, hasn’t it?”

            “Jellal –”

            “I’d have burned this whole fucking place to the ground once,” he whispered. “Just to see you smile like you meant it.”

            “And then where would we be?”

            “Happier. Maybe.”

            “Maybe.” Erza stepped into his personal space and plucked the cigarette from between his fingers. She turned her eyes to the warehouse below. The BMW’s red paint caught her eye again and the tapped the cigarette against her lips. “If a car is made of stolen parts does that make the car itself stolen?”

            “You and your philosophical questions.” Jellal’s voice was soft. She scanned it over and over in her head looking for sharp edges or perhaps a shred of the lunacy he’d been slipping into as of late. “You never used to ask me stuff like that.”

            “I never thought I had to.” Erza blew out another lungful of smoke that bounced off the glass and back into her face. “It was just supposed to be the cars,” she whispered.

            “You can’t make a living off just cars, Erza.”

            “I kept quiet about the drugs. I never said a word as long as I didn’t see it. But this violence is out of control.” She squashed the spent cigarette on the windowsill and spun on him. _“You_ are out of control.”

            “Erza –”

            “Are you going to tell me you’re fine?” She interrupted with more sharpness than intended. Her heart was betraying her already. She needed to be _stronger._ “Or that this is who you’ve always been?”

            “Maybe it is. I’ve never felt _more_ like myself than I do right now.”

            “We never used to lie to each other, Jellal.”

            “I’m not the liar in this room, Erza.” His words weren’t just a deflection. They were _true._

            “If I’m a liar now it’s your fault. You and this stupid fucking war.” She inched closer to him. He smelled of soap and cigarette smoke and the Doublemint gum she knew he still kept in the lap drawer of his desk. “You can’t win, Jellal.”

            “I _can.”_

            “You should’ve –”

            “Realized my _place?”_ he hissed, finally snapping. “Should I have been content to know I was a bottom level supplier? Should I have been fucking cool just bending over the trunk of any one of those fucking cars down there every time one of the leaders told me to and take it in the ass in front of _everyone?”_

            “Those are your words, not mine. Don’t be an ass.”

            “But it’s what you mean.”

            Erza sighed. “Jellal –”

            “You know, you’ve changed too, Erza. You used to be my right arm. I never made any decisions without you. The garage looked to me and I looked to _you.”_ He took her hands and slid his palms over her wrists, forearms, and biceps before settling on her shoulders. “But it’s been a long time. Maybe –”

            “You’re an idiot.” His thumbs slid over the sides of her neck and she felt the tips of his fingers tangle in her hair. “You were always convinced this city was a mountain you had to climb. And that’s bullshit, Jellal. It’s fucking _bullshit._ You picked fights with all the wrong people!”

            He smiled and it was a little bit sad and a little bit unhinged. “I wouldn’t have had any time in the sun if not for you. You were always too good for this. Too smart. Too fair.”

            “You used to be the best.” His lips brushed over hers and Erza knew she’d lost herself. “When we were on the same page –”

            “Everything was in control. You always spoke your mind no matter how harsh or cruel.” Her palms flattened against his chest. “What happened? Why did you betray us?”

            “I don’t care about anyone else but _you_ ,” she whispered against his mouth. “The rest of them can rot.”

            “Is that why you brought a gun?”

            Erza froze and he laughed almost too quietly. Jellal kissed her and despite everything she enjoyed it.

            “I’m not hurt, Erza. I knew you would. They won’t take you in without me.” He pulled back only a breath. “Isn’t that right? Wasn’t that the deal?”

            “It’s a new life,” she whispered. “I want out. Don’t you?”

            “I want _you.”_ Jellal kissed her again with a genuine urgency she hadn’t felt from him in a long time. She hadn’t realized they’d been moving until her backside bumped the edge of his desk. With one arm around her waist, Jellal shoved everything over the side. Stale soda and rank cigarette butts spilled over the floor. He lifted her to the edge and slid between her thighs.

            Erza lost herself in the past. A lifetime of shared kisses and whispers and gasps and sighs. _Promises._ So many promises. All of the words they’d shared in the small space between his mouth and hers threatened to choke her. He didn’t even flinch at the pistol she had strapped to her thigh. In two heartbeats he left the pistol on the desktop and tossed her panties aside. He could still make her tremble and bite her lip in fantastic ecstasy. When he finished inside of her, Erza thought to shove him away but didn’t. She tightened her thighs around his waist and _wished._ She made a wish and took a breath.

            Before her words could come spilling out, Jellal took her hand and placed the pistol in it.

            “Do it,” he whispered. “Do what you came to do.”

            “I didn’t come to –”

            “Don’t do that.” Jellal kissed her again and closed his hand around hers. When he moved back his pants were still hanging open and every tattoo on his body shone like some kind of horrible magic. “Let’s not lie to each other. Not now.”

            “I didn’t!” Erza felt a tear on her cheek. “I came to –”

            “They’ll never take me alive, love.”

            Every molecule of breath in her lungs rushed out. He hadn’t called her that in –

            “Jellal, _please.”_

            “Do it, Erza.” He pressed the barrel of the gun against his right pectoral and the most elaborate of his tattoos – an expertly shaded black and white fairy woman with a crown of thorns. “This is the hill I die on.”

            Erza was well acquainted with Jellal’s many moods. She knew when he was tired or hungry. She knew when the dark clouds were gathering over his head and she knew when his heart was light – those were always the days when he’d kiss her cheek and call her –

            His grip on her hand that held the pistol tightened and Erza dragged herself from her memories. This Jellal had the wild eyes of a man not altogether well. Erza felt her fingers twitching on the trigger.

            “I just wanted out. If you won’t come with me then –” She poked him harder in the chest with the barrel.

            “Ah,” he breathed, reaching out to touch her neck. “This is why I always loved you more than anything else. You were never afraid to take what you wanted.”

            “I want out.” Erza felt a lump of ice settle in her chest. “I want you, too, but –”

            “You can’t have both.”

            “I can’t have _either_ without you!” Her words echoed off the walls of the office loft and her hand trembled.

            Erza had never seen so much blood in her life.

* * *

 

            The rain pelted the windshield of the cherry red BMW with the racing stripes. She’d slid more than once already taking a turn too fast. Two thoughts pounded her skull from the inside. Firstly, she needed to ditch this car but not until she put some distance between herself and the warehouse. She didn’t think the agents would give her a moment more than the time they’d agreed on.

            And second?

            Erza glanced over at the passenger seat. She bit her lip so hard she could taste blood again. _What a mess._

* * *

 

            She left the cherry red BMW with the white stripes behind an abandoned gas station on the edge of town. Maybe she had a stealthy tail, maybe not.

            The new car was an old station wagon on its last borrowed leg. Erza told herself she only needed it to work as far as the next town over. There was a guy with a small garage who owed her a favor. Erza’s eyes slid to the rearview mirror.

            “Don’t you fucking die on me,” she whispered.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this last night but woke up and hated myself for not editing. Changes have been made. Regrets have been rectified. Bless.

_"Who were you with?"_

* * *

 

            Erza’s mattress had less give than his. He suspected this was because hers sat directly on the floor while _his_ had a box spring and a bedframe. The mattress wasn’t new and the springs creaked a bit under his knees and elbows but Erza’s body beneath him was soft. Her cheeks, her lips, her thighs, her breasts – all _soft._ She kissed him with unconcealed want and the kind of urgency that only accompanied the hard break neither of them wanted to talk about. Not _now._

            His palm settled on her thigh and Jellal pressed his forehead against hers. Erza’s breaths were quick and high. He wanted to remember every part of her. Beside him with her hand in his and the smile on her face he’d always loved, in front of him when she’d lean back against his chest as the sun dipped below the horizon, and beneath him with her hair tangled around his fingers. He’d miss the excited puff of her breath against his neck and the way she bit her bottom lip and the way she made him feel like the gap between them was nothing. Jellal would _never_ love _anyone_ the way he loved Erza. And at sixteen he thought he was old enough to know that for a _fact._

            Erza’s fingernails dug into his shoulders and he tilted his head to kiss her as he held himself off until she finished.

            “Do you have to go?” she whispered as her lips found the column of his neck.

            “No. Not yet.”

            She smiled and his stomach flipped over. “Liar.”

            “I don’t care, Erza. What’s he going to do?” Jellal muttered bitterly. “Send me away? He’s already doing that.”

            “I don’t want you to be in trouble because of me.” Her voice was soft and soothed his wrinkles the way it always did. She kissed him again and he stretched out beside her. The mattress was a single but still took up most of her floor space.

            “Don’t worry about me.”

            Erza sat up and reached for her t-shirt. He recognized it as his soccer practice shirt from the year before. Jellal zipped his pants and pulled her back down beside him.

            “Tell me about your summer job.”

            “It’s just a cashier job at the store on the corner.” Her fingers brushed over his cheek and she tried to smile. “But I want to help my mom. She works too hard. The manager promised me lots of hours.” Erza paused and bit her lip again. “Will you be back for Christmas?”

            Jellal wished she hadn’t asked. “No. Dad says I need to focus on school more. I won’t be back at all until next summer. I saw him sign the waivers.”

            “I’m sorry.” Her eyes glittered.

            “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.” Jellal got lost in the tear that slid from her cheek into the mattress. “I’d understand if –”

            “Don’t even start,” she snapped.

            “Tell me that you’ll _try.”_ She scowled at him but he couldn’t help prodding. It destroyed him to think of Erza with anyone else but she needed _someone._ The thought of her alone hurt him even more.

            _“No.”_

            “You’re stubborn,” he murmured against her lips.

            The kiss was cut short by the sound of the front door shutting. Apartment walls on this side of town were thin. Jellal sighed. He knew Erza’s mother would’ve seen his car in the lot. If she was home, that meant he’d stayed well beyond what his father would consider a reasonable hour.

            “You should go.”

            He hated when Erza was right. “Two more weeks. I want to spend every minute with you.”

            “I have some stuff around here I promised my mom I’d take care of in the morning but –”

            “I’ll help you.”

            “Jellal –”

            “He’s not going to ruin this time for us, okay? I’ll help you do whatever you need to do and then we can sit outside and watch that old lady across the courtyard pick her tomatoes. I don’t care. I just want to be with you.”

            “It’s laundry,” she said with her first real grin since he’d knocked on the front door. “I told my mom I’d handle _all_ the laundry. At the laundromat by the leasing office. She gave me quarters and soap.”

            “Laundry then.” He kissed her again before sitting up and grabbing his shirt.

            “You’re going to realize how much better it is to have an actual life when you’re gone.” Her tone was light but he knew how much those words cost her to say. “No folding sheets or towels or walking two blocks to pay a bill because I don’t have minutes on my phone.”

            Erza stood and pulled on her shorts left over from the days when her father still paid child support and she could afford to participate in things like cheerleading and athletics. Jellal slid his feet into sneakers that could likely keep Erza in laundry quarters for a year and stood. He pulled her against his chest and decided the cheap Dove bar soap her mom stocked in the bathroom was the most heavenly scent he’d ever breathed in.

            “While I’m gone I want you to do something for me,” he said dropping kisses on the apples of her cheeks. “I want you to think long and hard about your worth.”

            “My worth?” She grinned but shook her head in confusion.

            “Yeah. I want you to calculate how much you think you’re worth to me, and lay it all out in an invoice. When I get back I want to see it.”

            “Why?”

            “Because I want to start planning how many lifetimes I’ll need to be worth your time, Erza.” Her grin wavered but he didn’t let her pull away. “I want you to understand how _priceless_ you are.”

            “You’re so stupid, Jellal.” Her tears were sneaking down her cheeks again.

            “When I’m an adult, he can’t stop me from doing what I want.”

            “He’ll cut you off,” she whispered in a breath.

            “So what? I’ll get a job and pay for things myself. I don’t need his money!”

            “Jellal.” Erza’s expression fell into something that threatened to break his heart. “You don’t know what that means. You don’t know what it means to not have money. Don’t fuck up your life just because of me.”

            “What’s fucked up is that he thinks he can control me. He _can’t!_ Not once I turn eighteen. And, anyway, it’s not like it’s all his money. My mom left me a college fund.”

            She gazed up at him with such skepticism he couldn’t help but laugh a little.

            “Have some faith in me, Erza. We can talk more about it tomorrow.”

            “We’ll fold sheets and discuss our financial future?” Her hands slid around his waist.

            “Yeah. Sounds like a fun date.”

            “You’re stupid. Have I told you that?”

            “Only all the time.” Jellal finally smiled and she stood on her toes to press a kiss to the dimple in his left cheek.

            “The phone really is off again so just come by at eight or nine.”

            “I’ll be here.”

            She walked him to the door and he smiled politely for her mother who waved at him from their tiny kitchen.

* * *

 

            The difference between the side of town where Jellal lived and where Erza lived could not be more stark. Magnolia Heights was considered the _peak_ of old money. Acnologia Fernandes was a staunch believer in social hierarchies and there was quite literally no end to the resources available to him. Despite Erza’s protests, Jellal would throw it all away in a heartbeat.

            Sometimes, late at night when he couldn’t sleep, he wondered what exactly pushing back against his father would look like. Would he be kicked out of the home where he’d grown up? While true that his college would be paid for by a trust managed by his mother’s family, he wasn’t sure how the rest of it would work. If Acnologia cut him off would the Heartfilias follow suit? Or would they step in? No one had balked at the concept of boarding school but he hadn’t been invited to that discussion table either. More than once he’d asked himself if Lucy was smarter than him. She never went against the grain – but then again, Lucy didn’t have someone like Erza. She didn’t have a _reason_ to push back.

            Jellal’s window slid down and he reached out to punch in his gate code. The iron bars slowly drew back and he eased the car that had been a birthday gift from his grandmother into the circular stretch of cobblestone driveway. Most of the windows were dark except for the nook on the garden side of the house – Acnologia’s office. Jellal sucked in a deep breath and decided to take the side door. It would be better to get the confrontation over with.

            The hallway was quiet and the scent of Acnologia’s tobacco could be detected immediately. Jellal proceeded directly to the office door and stood in the yellow glow of his father’s desk lamp.

            “Who were you with?” Acnologia didn’t glance up from his laptop.

            “I lost track of time.”

            “You didn’t answer my question.”

            Jellal shrugged. He didn’t need to answer the question because the answer was always the same.

            “What will you do when she finds someone else to fill her bed when you’re gone?” Jellal’s hands balled into frustrated fists. “Girls like that always have a queue.”

            “Girls like what?” he bit out.

            “Girls from the slums, Jellal.” Acnologia said matter-of-factly. He closed his laptop and leaned back in his desk chair. The expensive leather creaked and even at such a late hour he was still dressed impeccably in his _Turnbull and Asser_ double cuff button-up and trousers. “They want your money and they’ll earn it on their backs.”

            “You don’t know –”

            “I hope I’ve raised you smart enough to know how to protect yourself when you dip into the gutters.” Acnologia’s sharp words were delivered as smooth as the herringbone pattern of his shirt. “Perhaps young Miss Scarlet is smarter than the mother. She’s shopping from better shelves.”

            “You’re disgusting. Erza is –”

            “Beneath you.”

            _“Better than me._ She’s kind and smart and works hard and always tries her best!” Jellal almost winced at his own clumsy words. He’d never been very good under his dad’s pressure.

            “I’m sure she’s trying _very_ hard.”

            “You can’t stop us from being together.”

            Acnologia stood and crossed the room to the shelf that kept his humidor. He opened the case and went through a series of motions Jellal had long memorized. The process of selection, clipping, and lighting used to amuse him. Now all he could think of was the _cost_ of every single step. A cloud of smoke billowed from between his father’s lips. Acnologia’s hard gaze settled once again on Jellal.

            “In thirteen days you’ll understand what exactly I am capable of doing to protect you from trash like that girl.”

            Jellal sucked in a breath and spun on his heel. Before he took even one step he turned back to his father.

            “And in two years you’ll wonder why I never call.” He wanted the words to be stronger, more forceful but they hung in air already choked with his father’s cigar smoke. His hands shook and his chest felt hollow. He wanted to call Erza but knew she wouldn’t be able to answer.

            Jellal wondered if it made him weak that he couldn’t even slam his bedroom door with any conviction.


	11. Chapter 11

_"Please talk to me"_

* * *

 

            If Erza scrolls all the way back she’ll see two years worth of unanswered text messages. She should delete them but she can’t.

            On her twenty-fourth birthday her boyfriend buys her a new phone. The gift is sweet. Thoughtful. He knows her phone is old and the screen is cracked. Once he’s asleep beside her, she activates the new phone on a new line entirely.

            _‘I have a new number. Please talk to me.’_

            The old phone stays silent in her bedside table drawer.

* * *

 

            The proposal feels impulsive even though they’ve been dating for four years. Erza accepts even though a very big part of her is still on pause. She still _wonders._

            _‘I’m getting married. I don’t know if it’s because I want to or because I feel like I should.’_

* * *

 

            When she sees two pink lines, Erza panics. She stays in the bathroom for a very long time trying to convince herself this is _okay_ when her heart is screaming that it’s _not_.

            She doesn’t text him about the baby until two weeks later when she’s bleeding again and the doctor confirms a miscarriage.

            _‘I lost it.’_

            Simon sighs in his sleep and Erza cries.

            He says nothing when she goes back on birth control and never mentions trying again. She thinks, though, that his thoughts on the matter are clear when he starts traveling more and rips the carpet out of the bedroom at the end of the hall. By summer, the room has a polished concrete floor and is filled with workout equipment he rarely uses.

* * *

 

            _‘I think he’s having an affair.’_

            She sends the message on impulse but doesn’t regret it. After long trips, Simon’s dirty shirts smell of something feminine she can’t quite put her finger on. Erza has never been one for perfume.

            Whatever the full scope of Simon’s infidelities, she doesn’t quite care. She _tries_ to care but fails.

            When he returns just before the New Year, there is a smear of lipstick on the collar of one of his button up shirts. Simon catches her with the shirt in her hands and the lipstick has left a mark on her thumb.

            He stares. She stares.

            The silence is deafening.

* * *

 

            Their marriage counselor is frustrated but remains professional. Erza doesn’t quite know how to verbalize the horrifying fact that she’s been cheating on Simon for much longer than he’s been fucking his assistant.

            _‘I want to break up.’_

            She falls asleep with her cracked phone pressed against her palm under her pillow.

* * *

 

            Simon has been home for less than an hour when the doorbell rings. The doorbell is immediately followed by a hard knock. Erza watches him cross the living room floor with the kind of blurred attention that hits her quickly when she’s halfway through a bottle of Shiraz.

            The voices twist her insides in a knot. Simon appears in the archway and stares blankly at her. Behind him are two men in uniform. She recognizes neither but she suddenly wishes she weren’t drunk.

            “Erza Scarlet?” The man with the golden eagle pinned to his green lapel addresses her stiffly.

            Erza watches Simon open his mouth to correct him but he quickly closes it. His hands disappear into his pockets.

            “Yes?” She stands awkwardly trying not to slosh her Shiraz on the floor. “I mean _yes.”_

            “We need to speak with you regarding Captain Jellal Fernandes.” The colonel glances at Simon. “Privately, if that’s alright.”

            Simon says nothing. On his way through the living room he pries Erza’s wine glass from her hand and snatches the nearly empty bottle of Shiraz from the tea table.

            “Jellal is dead,” Erza whispers. She feels the wine churning in her gut. She’s never said that Jellal was _dead_ before. Not out loud. Not in her head. _Not ever._

            “Captain Fernandes was extracted from an undisclosed site approximately seventy-two hours ago, Miss Scarlet.”

            Erza flinches. No one has called her _Miss Scarlet_ in two years.

            “Okay,” she whispers dumbly. Her skin hums. She thinks she might vomit.

            The colonel purses his lips and frowns. His partner – Erza squints at his rank but her fuzzy brain can’t recognize the symbol – steps forward and clears his throat.

            “We understand this must be difficult news for you, Miss Scarlet, but you _are_ still listed as Captain Fernandes’s next of kin.”

            “Still?” The words are a choked whisper. Erza blinks and her mouth opens again. She doesn’t think. “Take me to him. _Please.”_

            The colonel gestures toward her bare feet and Erza almost laughs. Instead she excuses herself and tries not to sway into the wall as she leaves the men in the living room.

            Simon is stretched across their bed on his back. He’s left a trail of wet footprints from the shower to the bed.

            “If you go to him, I won’t be here when you get back.”

            Erza leans against the closet doorframe and tries to shove her bare feet into a pair of sneakers.

            “You haven’t been here in a long time, Simon.”

            He finally looks at her and she sees absolutely nothing on his face.

            “Erza, I don’t think you’ve _ever_ been here.”

* * *

 

            The hospital isn’t cold but she shivers anyway. Her pajama pants feel shabby under the fluorescent lights. She pulls her jacket tighter around her body and folds her arms.

            “Just here, Miss Scarlet.” The colonel stops in front of a room with a closed door.

            “Is he okay?” she finally blurts out.

            “Captain Fernandes has sustained a few injuries,” the man beside the colonel says. Erza finally recognizes his rank as major. It’s been a long while since things like rank mattered. “But his prognosis is positive.”

            She nods, realizing they aren’t actually going to tell her anything. Her hand closes around the lever and she presses down. The wine is still smudging her edges but she _feels_ sober.

            The door closes behind her before Erza realizes she’s stepped through it. A powder blue curtain hangs between herself and the bed. The sound of the rings scraping against the bar startles her and the low light of his bed lamp glints off her wedding set.

            Jellal sits on the edge of the bed. He’s in a pair of cotton pants the same pale blue color as the curtain she is still clutching. Her eyes are drawn to his hands. His wrists are covered in badly healed slash marks. His skin looks as if he’s been left out in the sun for an age. But his eyes are still the same deep forest green they’ve always been and it breaks her heart.

            She can _feel_ when he sees the ring but she doesn’t _care_ because when he lays his palms open on his knees she rushes forward and pulls him against her.

            “Erza.” Her name is a breath against her neck. His fingers find the tangled strands of her hair and the palms of her hands find his back. Beneath his t-shirt she knows there is a host of scars – she can feel them.

            “I thought –” She can’t finish the sentence.

            Her hair is still wrapped around his fingers when he touches her cheeks. His thumb presses against her bottom lip. Jellal’s palms slide over her shoulders and arms and the world stops spinning when he reaches her left ring finger.

            “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

            “Don’t be,” he finally says. His voice is ragged. “Six years is –”

            “Not that long.”

            When he meets her eyes she blinks away hot tears. “It was an eternity for me.”

* * *

 

            It is two months before Erza breaks down the last of the moving boxes and sets them aside for recycling. The flat is smaller than the house she shared with Simon but it is _hers._

            She knows Jellal is out of the hospital and free of the military. She knows he has her new number but it is another month before the cracked phone in her bedside drawer vibrates.

            The number is new. The text thread is new. The way the words settle in her heart like they belong there is not.

            _‘’Please, talk to me.’_


	12. Chapter 12

_"I can't trust you"_

* * *

 

            Erza isn’t angry, she is _furious._ And he’s been with her long enough to know the difference.

            Her eyes follow him from the bathroom to the closet where he trades a towel for his uniform. His elbow brushes the sleeve of his leather jacket and he hesitates before grabbing it. Her words haunt him and his fingers twitch.

            _No._

_I’m tired, Jellal. I can’t handle this stress._

_Every fucking time you leave this apartment I worry._

_I’ve seen you die a thousand different ways in my dreams and in my head. I can’t escape it._

_Please just take the car._

_Don’t do this._

            Her reasons are good. Fair. But Jellal can’t live in the empty void of space where he’s so afraid of getting hurt he never _feels_ anything _._ The rush of the wind against his face and the feel of the road rising to meet him on a tight turn are what keeps life exciting.

            He can’t tell Erza that, though. It would make her feel like she isn’t enough for him. He doesn’t know how to explain that this has nothing to do with _her_ and everything to do with his _mother._ A childhood of her muffled tears and the empty chair at the head of the dinner table and men with badges _‘just checking in’_ still loomed. Her constant warnings of broken arms and legs and nagging over helmets and kneepads had left him _desperate._

            The empty chair could never be filled but he thought maybe he understood now why it was empty. His father had been _vibrant_ and every time Jellal put on his leather jacket he thought he could feel a piece of that excitement. That _thrill_.

            Somewhere in the less selfish part of his mind he knows that every time he chases that ghost – that better than sex _rush_ – he’s sentencing Erza to his mother’s cell of quiet fear. The one place he hates more than anything else. Instead of him living in fear and doubt and _emptiness_ , it’s her.

            Jellal’s hand closes around the arm of the leather jacket and he tugs it from the hanger. Erza’s eyes _gut_ him when he steps out of the closet. He avoids her as best he can but he feels rage vibrating in the air of their bedroom.

            “It’s raining,” she says in a scathing tone.

            “Yep.”

            “It’s not enough that I worry about you out there rolling up on god knows what? You have to take that fucking bike out in the rain, too?”

            “Erza –”

            “Why is everything with you always like this?” Her voice cracks.

            “We’ll talk about this when I get home.”

            “Will we?” she snaps. “I can’t trust you to be _alive_ then!”

            Jellal pulls on his boots and shoves his arms into the jacket. He stands in front of her and touches her cheeks with the tips of his fingers.

            “I’ll be alive. And we’ll talk about this later.”

            The expression on her face is the kind of resolve he’s used to seeing when she’s angry with _other_ people.

            “If you walk out that door and get on your bike then I won’t be here when you get back.” She doesn’t fumble her words or flinch. She doesn’t blink.

            Jellal can’t breathe. The road is calling him. The shrill bleating of the ambulance siren that pulses through his veins every time the radio crackles and the switch is flipped is tugging at him. He almost wishes they didn’t.

            But not quite.

            Instead of words, he presses a kiss to her forehead. On his way out the door he grabs his helmet and pretends he didn’t just walk away from the very best part of his life. The _only_ part that makes sense.

* * *

 

            He takes the turns too fast but executes the lean perfectly. Nothing excites him more. When he pulls into a parking space behind the firehouse he feels the night finally catch up. His excitement drains through the soles of his feet and _fear_ takes its place.

            What if she really _does_ leave? What then? On his way inside he sends her a text message.

            _‘I’m sorry. I’ll get a real ride home. We’ll talk.’_

            She doesn’t respond and he hates the hard lump of anxiety in his stomach. There’s no time to think about it, though. His shift is starting and he needs all of his cylinders firing.

* * *

 

            His shift is nearly over when he checks his phone again. Erza still hasn’t responded. The radio is crackling but he doesn’t hear what’s been said. His partner flips on the sirens and they go.

* * *

 

            There is something about this particular stretch of highway he hates. The curves are too close and the shoulder practically non-existent. He sees a shredded garbage bag flapping in the wind and splattered with rain and window glass. Clothing is strewn across the road.

            “This one’s gonna be messy,” his partner mutters.

            “Mm.” Jellal’s stomach is twisting again.

            The pickup truck comes into view first. It’s been plowed into the cement barrier at an angle. The ambulance inches around the truck to park on the sheltered side of the wreckage.

            Jellal’s mouth falls open and he thinks maybe his soul flies out. He grabs the door handle and jumps from the ambulance before it stops. A blue two-door coupe is crushed between the truck’s brush guard and the barrier. The trunk must’ve popped open on impact because there are articles of clothing and person effects scattered all over the road.

            Even if he hadn’t recognized nearly all the clothing, the books, and the box of shattered snow globes still tittering their broken songs, the blood soaked scarlet hair would’ve been unmistakable.

            His heart races. His palms tingle. _This_ is the rush he’s used to. Except this time it hurts.


	13. Chapter 13

_"I need you, though"_

* * *

 

            She could hear the music from outside the house. He’d opened all the windows and doors to let the early autumn breeze carry away the last of summer. That much was expected but the music scared her and Erza sucked in a painful breath. He only played when his heart was heavy. With every step across the yard and up to the door, Erza felt the knot in her chest tighten. She left her bag and heels at the door before padding down the hallway to the last room on the left. The one with the window seat that faced the garden.

            Late afternoon sunlight fanned across the cherry floor and Lily basked in the warmth of it. His paws were curled just so; his whiskers twitched with every flutter of the cool breeze. On any other day she might’ve smiled.

            The piano stood on the far side of the room. Its glossy black finish still clung to its pride despite the worn edges and curves. Jellal’s feet were bare and the loose ends of his frayed jeans brushed the hard wood floor every time he moved. There was no music on the rack. Though his shoulders were squared, his eyes were glued to the keys.

            Sometimes she wondered what he saw. Did he see his own fingers dancing over the white and black – or did he see another pair of hands? A more feminine set with short fingernails painted ballet shoe pink. The piano had belonged to his mother. Everyone said she could’ve been a concert pianist. She could’ve been _famous._ Instead, she stayed home to raise the little boy she loved more than anything else.

            The music shifted seamlessly and Erza’s sigh was carried away on the notes. She crossed the room, stopping to nudge Lily with one toe. He rolled over lazily without even opening his eyes. A crescendo filled the room with something _almost_ hopeful when she took a seat sideways on the bench beside him. He didn’t flinch or move at all when she leaned back against his arm. She felt every flex of muscle, every _breath._

            When the music changed again, Erza’s eyes slid closed. The scent of gardenia and honeysuckle overwhelmed her. A little girl and a little boy danced across the cherry floor in her memories. Anna’s fingers were lighter on the keys than Jellal’s. The difference was slight and only a practiced ear could hear it.

            For as long as Erza could remember the last room on the left had belonged to Anna – even more so now that she was gone. Her presence could be felt acutely in every press of Jellal’s fingers against the keys of her beautiful grand piano. So many moments of joy and the kind of love that stuck into every crack and crevice still drew breath.

            But.

            Beyond the room were the shadowed hallways they didn’t often talk about. The music always came first, then the words. His picture still hung in the frame Anna had selected herself. His medals and ribbons glittered in the light of the flash. Jellal could speak freely of his mother in nearly every room of the house but not his father. Some shadows would never leave.

            Erza felt a crushing irony deep in her soul every morning when Jellal put on his own uniform and boots. Every time he packed his rucksack and left her on the top step just beyond the front door. When Jellal was gone, Erza felt Anna the most. She understood the piano and why it made her so happy. Jellal’s mother had filled her half empty heart with music.

            Jellal’s fingers slowed and the melancholy notes brought her to tears. He’d be leaving again soon. Somewhere far. Somewhere dangerous. She didn’t know how to beg him not to go or how to explain that her heart wasn’t ready to lose anything.

            When she opened her eyes again, the room was dark and cold. Jellal’s hands fell to his lap.

            “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

            “I need you, though.” The silence was louder than the music ever had been.


End file.
